


Hold My Hand

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [148]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers Movie Night, Avengers Tower, F/M, Holding Hands, M/M, POV Loki (Marvel), Pre-Relationship, Reader-Insert, Stark Tower, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loki reflects on the way you touch him, and whether he could be permitted to touch you.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [148]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 14
Kudos: 243





	Hold My Hand

The first time you grabbed his hand, Loki wasn’t sure how to respond. You weren’t in danger. No one was. You were sitting beside him on the sofa in the living room for one of Thor’s movie nights. No one else really ever sat beside him, so, admittedly, he was a little surprised when you joined him. You sat down almost like it was nothing, with only a shy, awkward smile to show him that you knew it could be more than that. 

During the climax of the film, he couldn’t help but notice the way your muscles tensed, the way you chewed on your thumbnail with your eyes glued to the screen. And then you’d reached out and grabbed his hand. It wasn’t intentional. It felt more like you were reaching out to grab his knee, or, more accurately, the cushion, but his knee and his hand were simply in the way. You’d gripped him tightly through the worst of the action, letting go only when things calmed down. It kind of made him smile, in a quiet, secret way. You were a member of the Avengers. You regularly engaged in gunfights and fistfights with some of the nastiest people humanity had to offer, and you were still thrilled by a fictional car chase in a film? As things wound down, you did eventually pull away, and offered him a quiet apology, like you thought you might have offended him.

The only offensive thing about your hand on his was how much he missed it when it was gone.

He certainly didn’t allow himself to begin seeking that out. He didn’t make any special effort to sit beside you or to leave a space for you beside him—but if, sometimes, you did sit next to _him_ , maybe he was a little more aware of exactly where he placed his hand. He felt ridiculous about it. It was absolutely not in his nature to be so desperate for physical contact. In fact, he had purposely cultivated the sort of reputation, both in Asgard and here, which would discourage people from getting too close to him.

But your hand was soft and warm. And you had clung to him in a way that no one ever had. He tried to force that thought away with the knowledge that you hadn’t done it on purpose, that you were merely lost in the story on the screen and gripping tightly to whatever you’d made contact with first. But sometimes, late at night, when he couldn’t sleep and instead stared at the ceiling, he conjured up the memory of that night and your hand holding his for dear life. 

The next time you touched him, it was similarly instinctual, but then he went and took it too far. You’d been sent on a mission with him—and Thor and Stark. The two of you were meant to be some sort of behind-the-scenes backup while the others ran things, but things went wrong, as they were wont to do, and you both wound up in the middle of it. Loki was too focused on fighting, on getting out of there and getting the lot of you to safety, and he didn’t notice who or what caused the gash in his shoulder. Indeed, he didn’t even really know it was there at all until you had gasped and grabbed his arm.

If you were anybody else, he would definitely have grumbled something under his breath and jerked away from you, but...you were you. And you were touching him again. So instead, he allowed you to lead him back onto the jet and to struggle with his suit so that you could patch him up again. He didn’t have the heart to remind you that he’d be fine in just a few hours, that he healed so much faster than you mortals did. He let you fuss over him, working with nimble fingers and gentle caresses until you’d gotten the bleeding under control and covered the wound with gauze. Your eyes were dark when you looked up at him, but dark in a haunted kind of way. He knew instantly that the wound had upset you, and he was intensely grateful that he’d allowed you to take care of it. 

You must have seen something like the truth in his face, though, because you offered a quick humorless laugh and looked away. “You didn’t need any of that, did you? I’m sorry. I...guess I forget that you’re a god.” You reached to gather up the supplies. Your hands were still covered with blood. His blood. It did strange things to him. Before he had the chance to think about it, he reached to take your hand and bring it to his lips. Here, he could smell the blood, and it mingled jarringly with the scent of your skin. You didn’t try to pull away, not even when he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. You just looked at him, eyes wide but no longer quite so hollow. 

Back in the Tower, he berated himself for being so forward. He’d ruined things. You were sure, now, to start avoiding him. You were just beginning to get to the point where there was no more apology in your smile when you joined him somewhere, and he was just beginning to like the self-assurance that lit your face instead. Maybe he sulked for a little while, restricting himself to his sleeping quarters alone and ignoring any of the knocks on his door. Thor didn’t like Loki’s new isolation, but there wasn’t much he could truly do about it, other than say things to him through the door and use his most disappointed tone of voice.

Over time, irritation formed a sort of callous over his embarrassment. He lived here too. He didn’t need to lock himself away forever. If you didn’t want to look at him or be near him now, maybe _you_ should go somewhere else. So, one day, as Thor stood at his door to give him a hard time about being alone so much lately, Loki squared his shoulders, opened his door, and brushed past him into the hallway. 

It was yet another of his movie nights. Initially, Loki planned only to go into the kitchen for some tea and some kind of snack, but he heard the noises in the sitting room and peeked in. The others were talking and laughing and playing around in a way that Loki wasn’t entirely sure was appropriate for the positions they held, but he didn’t have the venom in him to really hold that against him. He continued to scan the room. You were there, sitting in the place where you’d first taken his hand. His eyes narrowed. It was hard _not_ to take that as a challenge. 

So he forced himself to enter the room and saunter over to your sofa. He did not meet your eyes before sinking down into the cushions, and braced himself for the disappointment when you stood up to go somewhere else. The rest of the team barely even seemed to notice his entrance. Well. Good. He relaxed into the back of the sofa and stared straight ahead.

Before long, you nudged him with a bowl of popcorn. “Last bag in the Tower,” you said in a quiet whisper. “I wrestled Clint for it.” You were quiet for a moment, perhaps looking for some kind of response, and then nudged him again. “You want some?”

It was a damn good ruse. He imagined someone like you—someone who relied more on your mental abilities than on physical ones—full-on wrestling someone like Barton, and found that he was a little disappointed that he hadn’t been here to witness it. “You wrestled him?” He didn’t reach for a handful, and he barely turned his head towards you. 

You laughed quietly, good-naturedly. It was like music to his ears. If you could laugh with him, perhaps he hadn’t gone too far when he’d kissed your hand? “Okay, I cheated a little. But I got the popcorn.”

That’s when he finally brought himself to look you in the eye. You were watching him with a bright grin, which only widened when you saw him looking. The last traces of his uncertainty vanished, then, and he did take some of the popcorn. You didn’t say anything else, only moved a little closer to him so you could rest the bowl half on his leg and half on yours. 

When the movie finally started, you both continued to munch on the snack. Several times, he reached for more at the same time as you, and felt his fingers brush your skin. Not once did you recoil. In fact, you started giggling quietly each time it happened, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure that you started to reach into the bowl when he did so that _you_ could touch _him_. A single bag of popcorn was no match for your appetites combined, so it didn’t take long at all before all that remained in the bowl was unpopped kernels. Maybe he allowed himself only a moment to feel disappointment at the fact that he had no more excuses to touch you. 

But then you took his hand. You did not grip him as tightly as you’d done before. This felt like a conscious choice. He allowed himself a single quick glance at your face, but you were pretending to be deeply absorbed in the film. When he shifted his hand a little, he felt the way you hesitated before ultimately releasing him. You were no more certain of him than he was of you. Warmth rushed through him, and gratitude, and something like happiness. But he didn’t wait long before reaching out to take your hand again, this time lacing his fingers through yours. He felt you looking at him, but did not turn his head to meet your eyes. You squeezed his hand. 

His heart was beating so quickly.


End file.
